Page 18 of Cursed By the Love Witch

A glimpse of pink hair sends blood rushing through his veins. She’s on time for once and enters his classroom dressed as she was this morning, if only a bit more wrinkled. Once she is over the threshold, her eyes find him and hold—a delicate pink breaks out along her cheeks as she walks to her desk. A growl threatens to exit his throat, but he swallows it down.

His gaze on her drops as a few students come seeking advice on enrolling in his second-year course next semester. He grows irritated even as he manages to answer their questions. As aprofessor, he takes his job seriously and realizes spending an entire hour staring at the pink-haired goddess that’s tempted him for years is irrational.

Even if that’s all he wants to do.

The final bell rings and everyone finds their seats. Darcee hangs her cloak off the back of her chair. Her thin white shirt perfectly highlights her frame. A few pink curls cling to her temples. Her partner is noticeably absent, as is his teaching assistant, Zander. He heard something about them accidentally ingesting a sleeping potion.

It matters little. This gives him an opportunity he would be a fool to pass up.

She folds her small hands atop the books on her desk. Her magic pulses under her ivory skin. He can see it—taste it. Its warmth radiates from her and into him. When her eyes meet his again, everything in him tightens painfully. He watches her sink her teeth into her full lower lip, and he nearly doubles over.

Discovering she had enrolled in his course had been a blessing and a curse. After watching her from afar all these years, being so close to her was a delight, even if it drove him mad simultaneously. In the beginning, he resented her for how she made him feel. Now, he sees how foolish that was.

She tempted the beast inside him, and he had pushed against it—fighting his very nature. Now, he would happily supplicate to her every whim if she merely said the word. It was a sudden revelation but no less true.

His gaze lingers on her a moment longer, delighting as her flush spreads lower across her chest. He remembers the feeling of her in his arms. Too quick—he was too quick, and like a little lamb, she had turned skittish. He will court her properly even if he must be discreet about it.

“Students,” he says, voice clear and even. “We will continue with our reanimation potions this afternoon. Working with yourpartner, follow the instructions in your manuals to create the brew before administering it to your subject.”

With a wave of his hand, cauldrons and supplies appear on each table. Darcee bites her lip and glances at the space beside her. He is barely able to suppress his grin. He stalks towards her slowly.

A dark-haired first-year sitting at the table beside Darcee stands.

“High Warlock, we can add Darcee to our group since her partner is absent.”

Darcee gives him a soft, grateful smile. The young warlock blushes even as the High Warlock gives a dismissive shake to his head.

“That won’t be necessary, Remus.” He can hardly believe his voice sounds clear while his blood is a raging inferno. It heats further when he stands beside Darcee at the work table.

“I will assist Miss Thistle during today’s lesson.”

8

DARCEE

Iwatch in awe as Bael expertly crafts the reanimation potion.

He barely glances at the manual but talks through each step in depth with me. He shows me the difference between cutting and dicing and how you must grind everything into a fine powder to ensure all ingredients are dispersed evenly to achieve the desired result.

“Reanimation is all about balance. Even the smallest thing can throw it off and ruin the potion.”

I watch him add moon water to a gray powder before turning it into a paste. He then uses that to drop dollops into the boiling cauldron.

“I never would’ve thought to do that,” I say.

His lips twitch as if he is suppressing a grin. Working with him has been surprisingly easy. Our movements feel naturally in step with each other.

“It’s simple really. Grave dust enhances the property of the nail shavings. Mixing them with moon water further strengthens them. The paste will ensure our potion doesn’t become too thin and will lack the necessary potency to work.” He nods to the small bowls laid out before me. “You try.”

Biting my lip, I nod. Doing exactly what he did, I sift the grave dust and nail shavings into a separate bowl before slowly pouring in the moon water. It takes a few tries to get the consistency right, but I smile and look at him once it’s the thickness of wet sand. His eyes glow with approval, and it sends a thrill through me.

“Excellent, Darcee.”

I watch his large hand slide along the top of the work table before coming to rest atop mine. My eyes dart around the room, but everyone is too absorbed in their work to notice.

“I had a look through your old exams,” he whispers. My face heats, preparing for a cutting remark about my lack of work ethic. “I realize now what the problem is. It wasn’t that you weren’t trying or doing the required reading—I’m ashamed to admit I believed that to be the case for a while. However, it is now clear that you’ve been doing all the work backward because your natural affinity contrasts necromancy. It’s why you wouldn’t think of making a paste with the grave dust. You're used to potions being thin and everything working in tandem. That is not the case with dark magic.”

The gray skin of his cheeks darkens, and his eyes blaze.

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